Bright Lights and Dark Puddles
by roboticdragons
Summary: Sammy and Norman/Projectionist fic! Will update weekly.
1. A Meeting

Betrayal wasn't an emotion Sammy felt much in this studio, but right now it seemed to burn through his whole inky being.

The one thing he'd trusted down in this hell, that he'd done so much for, he'd killed for ( _oh god, he'd almost murdered someone_ ), everything was for his lord. He had expected freedom as a return for this sacrifice, maybe some memories back at least. Something, _anything_ that could reconnect the broken shell of a person to the man he once was. One human's life was a fair price for another's humanity, surely!

But no, apparently it wasn't enough. Or maybe the Ink Demon didn't want human sacrifices in the first place. Either way, the Demon was not pleased with Sammy's offering. It had appeared in front of him and loomed over, staring down with no eyes like a predator preparing to rip apart its unfortunate prey. In that moment, Sammy expected death. It was freedom of some twisted sort and, truth be told, that outcome wouldn't have been so bad. But, a cruel demon that his Saviour was, the Demon had chosen to do so much worse. He sent him back to the dark puddles.

The unpleasant feeling of losing his form was soon forgotten as voices seemed to assault him from all directions. They cried out, yelling in anger or sobbing with endless grief. Sammy tried to reform, to regain something vaguely human-shaped, but he just couldn't _focus_. Not with the barrage of thoughts that weren't his flooding his mind.

Nevertheless, Sammy struggled against them. He couldn't become a screaming searcher like the rest of them, he _couldn't_! He was stronger than them, he had held on to some degree of lucidity even after what seemed like _eternity_!

Sammy felt some of the unseen presences back off, sensing his determination and anger. The voices, while still there, quietened and became more of a murmuring hum. He still couldn't regain his form, but the puddle seemed to now be slightly in his control. Slowly, drop by drop, the inky creature soaked into the walls.

Now, where to go from here?

A static-filled cry echoed out through the large room. The cry was soon joined by the growls and moans of searchers and the sound of feet being dragged against rotting floorboards. The Projectionist slammed into a wall, making his light flicker and film reels shudder and whirr. He continued running from the monsters quickly catching up to him, lashing out when they got too close.

He'd known that going to the upper levels was dangerous, he'd known that half-finished characters roamed around looking for anything to attack. He'd just been so **tired** of that maze, those endless twists and turns. Corpses that stared up at him accusingly. He just **needed** to see something else.

But, like every other time he'd ventured up, the monsters showed no mercy. Through the numbness he felt the floor shaking, there were so many of them! Even the sight of them made him feel sick; not only were they dangerous, the Projectionist knew their mindless and animalistic behavior was what his mind would eventually slip to. It was already mostly gone; how long would it be until he completely lost himself?

Finally, he reached the staircase leading down into the abyss that was his home. Most of the monsters halted – this place was off limits; the angel didn't like anything going there. But a few were so lost in their bloodlust that they pressed forward.

The Projectionist spun around. Here he was at an advantage. His light made reflections shimmer as he charged towards the nearest abomination. The light was the last thing it saw before the Projectionist ripped it apart. Others met the same fate as the bright monster killed them all.

The Projectionist stood, ink dripping from his hands, among the corpses. His mind had become blank during the slaughter, and only now did it become aware of what he'd just done. The reels on his head whirred back and forth frantically and his light flickered. He fell to his knees. A drawn-out, distorted yell came from the speakers.

What had he become?

A distorted yell jolted Sammy from his thoughts. That didn't sound like a searcher…then again, he hadn't been in this area of the studio before. At least, he didn't have any memories of it, but his memories weren't very trustworthy.

Stewing as an ink puddle and making his way through the studio seemed to restore his strength, eventually allowing him to reform again. Once he'd gotten to what was technically his feet, he looked at his body. It had changed.

Somehow it was even more unstable than before he'd been smashed into a puddle. His four-fingered hands were melted, ink gluing some of his digits together. Droplets of the black substance were constantly rolling off his arms and chest. He felt unsteady on his feet and leaned against a wall for support. The biggest shock was his face: his mask was gone, probably soaking in some puddle somewhere, and without it, his vision was slightly blurry, but that wasn't all. His mouth just…wouldn't open. However hard he tried he just couldn't get it to open. Maybe…maybe he'd reformed _without a mouth_.

Oh god.

Sammy clawed at his face, trying to find any evidence that he'd once had facial features. He couldn't breathe, how was he alive?!

He let out a muffled yell. What was he turning into? The searchers, they only had half-formed mouths, and even that was more than what Sammy had now! His lower body began destabilizing and he sank to the floor of wherever he'd ended up in. The floor was covered in ink. The floor was ink, he was ink, the tears that rolled down his face were ink. Everything was ink and _everything_ _hurt_.

Movement caught the Projectionist's eye. So, a searcher had survived his rage? He didn't know why, but something compelled him to walk forwards cautiously, instead of charging at it. As he got closer, he realized this searcher was…different. It stayed pressed against the wall, hands pressed to its face and…wasn't attacking? This intrigued him. He continued walking, a static-y growl emanating from his speaker.

Sammy saw a bright light shine on his face. He groaned and lifted his hands away, keeping one near his face to try and block out some of the light. Why was it so bright?

The Projectionist tilted his head, it was moving? The thing raised its head…

 _ **The ink creatures locked eyes**_


	2. Cartoons and Abominations

_**So while I finished writing and uploading this story to AO3 I completely forgot that the first chapter of this was posted on . So, over the next couple of days I'll post the other two chapters (not including this one). Also, the ending is reasonably angsty, so be warned.**_

The Projectionist was the first to speak, if you could call whatever sounds he made speaking. He tilted his head and let out a curious crackle. This thing hadn't attacked him yet, so maybe, just maybe, it was friendly? He hoped so. He hadn't seen a friendly face in **so long**.

Sammy, on the other hand, was terrified. This _thing_ that was looming over him was unlike anything else he'd seen in the studio before. The situation reminded him far too much of Bendy preparing to rip him apart. He curled up into himself and groaned. Whatever it was, it was taller and presumably stronger than him.

The Projectionist saw the thing curl up. Was it…scared of him? Well, it had good reason to be. Mirrors were hard to come by down here, but he got the feeling his appearance was…less than friendly.

Well, it seemed like this thing couldn't walk, couldn't speak and wasn't aggressive. Now, what to do with it? It didn't seem ready or able to get up, but he couldn't just **leave** it there, **defenceless**! It was possibly one of the only things in this studio that wouldn't murder anything that moved!

…

Without a word (or rather, without a crackle), the Projectionist bent down and picked up the inky creature. It wasn't very particularly heavy, just kind of slippery and…oozing. It's reaction time was slow but once it realized what was happening the thing weakly started struggling and letting out gurgling whines.

What the _hell_?. What _was_ this thing? One moment Sammy had been staring up into a bright, almost painful to look light, the next he was being carried? Reforming had taken up a lot of his energy, and although he wasn't in danger of melting anytime soon, he was practically helpless.

Sammy gave up eventually. He was so _tired_ , too tired to try and fight this monster. So tired and…cold. Cold and dark…

The heightened lucidity Sammy had gained from the adrenaline rush of his breakdown was starting to slip away, leaving his mind blank. It was easier to deal with things like this. It was so easy to just slip into darkness…

The Projectionist felt the weight he was carrying shift slightly and looked down. The blank white eyes of the creature had slipped shut and it itself had gone limp and still. Something within him raised alarm-bells at that – suddenly passing out was never a good sign…

Sammy came to lying on the ground, next to a projector. He looked up and promptly shuffled backwards with a panicked yell. His Lord was right there, looking down at him! He was back to finish him off, or send him back for good!

A tap on his shoulder jolted him out of his panic. A bright light suddenly shined in his face, and he reached out blindly, grabbing something that felt solid. The light dimmed and Sammy found himself looking straight at the monster who'd carried him, somehow looking worried without a face. Sammy stared back, trying to figure out how to approach this thing.

A good first move might be to _stop grabbing the projector_.

Sammy whipped his arm back and scowled. The thing tilted its head, not seeming to understand. It backed off, sitting across from him. Sammy tried to speak, but immediately remembered the…situaton he was currently having with his new body. He settled for growling at the thing, trying to convey that he was _really_ not happy with it for carrying him. And, for its information, he _wasn't_ scared of it. Even with that blinding light…and obvious strength …and corpses scattered around it.

OK, he was a little scared.

The Projectionist was confused. Why was the other creature angry? He hadn't hurt him, not yet…It was then that he realised his hands were still stained by the corpses of the Butcher Gang, and combined with the thing that was technically his head, he was a pretty threatening figure.

Now, what makes people less scary? He tilted his head in thought. How could he get this stranger to trust him…

Aha! An idea popped into his head and his light got even brighter for a second, a twisted version of a light bulb popping up over his head.

The monster left the room, dragging his legs through the ink and leaving Sammy alone with his thoughts. His mind immediately jumped to escaping while the thing was gone, but there were no obvious exits. The room they were in was an old closet that had been cleared out, and a projector lay on the floor next to him. From its light, the eternally smiling face of Bendy was being projected, and Sammy discovered that the little cartoon had been the reason for the breakdown when he'd woken up.

Oh great. Now cartoons were sending him into panic attacks. His eyes were drawn to the rest of the room, covered in posters. They looked like they'd been put up with ink, someone trying to use the sticky substance to attach the paper to the wall. The Bendy posters were smeared with ink, and messy words surrounded the image. Sammy felt a twinge of annoyance at the defacing of his precious Lord's ( _murderer's_ ) image until he saw what the words spelt out.

" **BEwARe ThE iNk DemON** "

Ah. So this stranger did respect his Lord. Other posters were strewn around, but his attention was drawn by the monster returning, with a large box in its hands.

Cartoons were nice! They would probably cheer this stranger up, right? That was the Projectionist's thought process as he returned to the creature with a box of reels. He sat down next to it and slotted the reels in, then relaxed. He couldn't see the creature's reaction, as he couldn't see anything except the cartoon, but he was probably enjoying it. Who doesn't enjoy cartoons!

Sammy was totally and utterly confused. _What was this thing_?! It worked as an actual projector? But it was sentient? Why in the unholy name of Bendy was it _showing him cartoons_?

Well. No point wasting a good cartoon.

Sammy begrudgingly settled down to watch the cartoon. It was some silly little story about a kitchen, probably trying to get kids to buy that bacon soup. Worse of all, it portrayed Bendy as some sort of idiot, repeatedly putting the wrong ingredient in cooking pots and making other mistakes. How blasphemous.

A growl drew him from his criticism of the cartoon, a threatening noise that echoed through the inky maze. He glanced over at the thing – he really needed to stop calling it 'the thing', it needed some sort of nickname – but it showed no reaction. Was it deaf or something?

Well, it didn't have ears, so that would make sense.

Sammy unsteadily got to his feet, leaning against the wall. Frustratingly, his legs were still not cooperating with his mind, seeming to melt on every step and causing his legs to tremble like a fawn. An ominous shadow filled the end of the corridor, cast by what looked like…a corrupted toon? It was more stable than the Searchers, but from the way it was growling and moaning Sammy guessed it didn't have any sanity left.

Without warning the toon charged towards him, throwing a weird metal arm at him. Sammy stumbled backwards and let out a muffled yelp. What should he do? In his current condition he couldn't take this thing on, not without an axe. His thoughts were interrupted by the thing lunging at him, but before it could hit him a mechanical screech echoed from behind Sammy. A shape rushed from the darkness and viciously attacked the toon, ripping out its inside and throwing them on the floor. The projector monster stared at Sammy. Sammy stared back.

Yes, the 'Projectionist' would be a good name for it.


	3. Revelation

Sammy wasn't sure how human his new ally was. He also wasn't sure how long he'd been down in the inky maze. Neither was he sure where those corrupted toons were coming from, why his Lord didn't roam down here, or if his normal life of worshipping Bendy would ever return.

Generally, he wasn't sure about a lot of things.

One thing he was definitely sure of was that his new companion was the strangest thing he'd seen down here, and one of the most _dangerous_. He wasn't scared to admit it now, he was terrified of the Projectionist. It had moments of feralness where it would tear some unsuspecting searcher or toon to pieces. On the other hand, it had moments of odd childishness, dragging Sammy to a projector to watch the same Bendy cartoons, over and over. Even when it was watching cartoons, something about the creature was so sad and broken. This thing was even farther gone than he was, reduced to something almost animal or child-like in its mindset. Whenever it killed toons it seemed sad afterwards, but the gruesome slaughter was soon forgotten, replaced by cartoons.

Whoever the Projectionist used to be, Sammy hoped they weren't conscious anymore.

It had told him – well, told meaning conveyed via a lot of gesturing to posters and screeching – that another powerful ink monster ruled the lower floors. A cruel imitation of Alice Angel (his _favourite_ character) spent her time ripping open Boris and other toon clones. The Projectionist mainly stayed down in his inky lair, although except for Alice it didn't seem like there was anything stopping the creature from roaming elsewhere.

Then he saw the deep, ink-bleeding gashes across the Projectionist's back, and understood.

The Projectionist didn't know what to make of his companion. It didn't do much, mainly sat looking at posters and statues of the Ink Demon and some odd obsession with the monster. It still couldn't speak. Something about its body just… **refused** to work, and although it didn't show any discomfort in front of him, the Projectionist had caught glimpses of the inky creature curled up against a wall, the ink distorting and even dripping **upwards**.

He didn't know if it used to be human, or was born from ink, but even his half-broken mind knew feel that something horribly **wrong** had happened to it.

Neither of them were happy, but they weren't in immediate pain. Their existence settled into a kind of monotony, but not a boring one. That was the best you could help for in this hellish studio.

And of course, since life seemed to hate the two men, as soon as it settled into what could be called peace, their lives shattered again.

It began one day when Sammy, on a whim, decided to get more Bendy posters put up around the maze. Even though the Demon was the cause of his misshaped body, his image comforted him in a way. The Projectionist, for whatever reason, had a surplus of posters in his little closet, the same room he'd woken up in after his first encounter with the creature. He'd finally decided to try and hunt behind the shelves, hoping to find a few tucked away. Instead, a different character's image caught his eye.

It was Alice Angel, on what Sammy recognised as her debut poster, but something was written all over it, in the blocky, messy style of the Projectionist's writing. He moved the shelves a bit more, intrigued by his ally's defacing of the poster. He could see it all now, and clearly read the one word scrawled over and over the Angel's poster.

' _ **SUSIE**_ '

Sammy didn't understand. Why write the voice actors name over the image of the Angel? Yes, Susie voiced Alice, but why…

…

 _Sammy shattered_

 _No. No, not HER. She'd been sweet, she'd been kind. She'd had a CHANCE to get out the studio, hell, when her role was recast she didn't have any reason to stay, WHY WAS SHE HERE WHY WAS SHE HERE. That thing upstairs, it wasn't her, it WASN'T HER. It wasn't true it wasn't true she wasn't gone she got out she got out WHY DIDN'T SHE GET OUT._

A distorted, painful, grief-filled _**screech**_ ripped through the silence and reached an Angel resting above. She listened, only for a second, then turned her attention away. Screams were not out of place in Level 14.

The Projectionist was scared, so scared. His friend was screaming! And not the quiet muffled screaming the creature sometimes produced when its body started destabilising even more. No, this screaming had an undertone of **deep** sadness and pain. He wasted no time in following the screams to his friend pressed up against the wall and let out a staticky whine. His ally's face seemed like it was being ripped apart, a proper mouth trying to form. What could he do to help?

Through the despair-filled haze, Sammy saw the Projectionist staring at him, and a horror-laced thought surfaced. If Susie was ( _NO, no she WASN'T_ ) an ink monster, then…could it be…

…

He never did know why Norman had disappeared all those years ago.


	4. Ending

The grief and rage, in some weird way, seemed to grant him some lucidity. The tears washed away the insane ramblings of prophets and demons. In that moment, he was Sammy Lawrence and no one else. Memories were still hovering out of reach but for the first time in _years_ there were no other voices in his head. And in this moment of sanity Sammy could full, truly understand the horrors that had been done to him. He could understand in a terrible new light how twisted and _broken_ his body was.

And how horrifically wrong the thing standing in front of him was. The thing that, at one point in time, had been Norman Polk.

Did it – he – know? Presumably not, he'd shown little to no resemblance to the man Sammy once knew. Norman had been smart, smart enough to notice when Sammy had started slipping. And Joey had taken his mind. Made him into something even less human than Sammy. Even more anger welled up inside him at the thought of Norman's ruined mind. He could almost picture the red-hot fury coursing through his ink.

He needed _revenge_.

But first, he needed to tell the monster its name.

The Projectionist wasn't scared of much. He knew his strength was a force to be reckoned with. Even the Angel was slightly wary of him. But now his new friend was collapsed against the wall with ink floating upwards and a terrifying, gurgling growling was coming from him. The Projectionist was feeling a twinge of fear. Something was going on with his friend and he was scared.

He hastily stepped backwards as his friend rose to his feet, leaning against the wall to avoid stumbling over its malformed legs. He stumbled forwards, one step at a time, making a pain-filled growl as he slowly made his way out of the maze and into the open area. The Projectionist followed close behind making a worried whining noise. He didn't like to go out there much, too open, too many chances for creatures to spot him and attack. His friend grabbed a nearby tape recorder and pressed play, tilting his head. It was times like these the Projectionist wished he could hear.

The tape was Norman's…even more evidence that the Projectionist was once Norman Polk. Sammy looked at the creature and gestured to the tape in his hand, before remembering that he couldn't hear. Sammy looked around for any other way to convey to the Projectionist who he was, before remembering that a. there are large, un-inked walls around them and b. he was made of a substance used to write. Hopefully the Projectionist wasn't far enough gone that he couldn't even read.

In large, black letters Sammy slowly spelled it out. 'N-O-R-M-A-N'. Big block letters, no way to misread them. The Projectionist ran up to him, started to let out another whine, but stopped. Stopped and stared at the writing.

Reading was hard after all this time, and the human side of him was ashamed to admit that. The letters didn't seem to flow together anymore, and with only Bendy posters to read the Projectionist's ability had become limited. But these letters…something told him that this wasn't a normal word, one that had a proper meaning. This was…a name? As he stared at the letters they made more and more sense until a single word, a single name, was echoing in his mind.

' **Norman** '

Norman. Norman? Something about that name...there were memories floating in the darkness desperately trying to connect to that name, but why? Who was Norman? He turned his head to his friend, who responded by pointing at the name and pointing at the Projectionist. Why…?

The memories connected, and a part of Norman thought to be long gone began seeping through the cracks in his mind.

His head turned from the wall, to Sammy, back to the wall. All these memories…they were too much! His head hurt, his head had been hurting for so long…why hadn't he noticed until now?

It wasn't an immediate rush of memories, not like what happened to his friend. No, this was more like a dam slowly breaking under pressure, images of a woman (his wife?) and children ( **his** children?). The child-like, animal-like personality he'd developed over the many years was being washed away.

And now there was nothing to muffle the pain.

The Projectionist Norman became more and more aware of piecing pains dotting his back and arms and feet and head and almost his entire body until the dam seemed like it was one droplet from breaking. He suddenly wanted to speak, **needed** to speak but he couldn't feel a mouth or ears or **anything**. All he could feel was a blanket of once-muted pain intensified and a vibration coming from his chest. Movement made him whip his head towards his friend an inky creature covering its ears. Was he making noise? He couldn't tell, he couldn't hear anything just the whirring of a projector on and on and on and a bright light he couldn't look away from, he just wanted **darkness**! He just wanted peace…

He didn't want to feel.

This wasn't going to plan. Not a lot of things had gone to plan in Sammy's life ever since he'd gotten hired at Joey Drew Studios. Having a stable job, working at a non-terrible place, not being turned into an ink-worshipping cultist and having any sense of normality ripped away, all of those were in his 'plan', and none had happened so far.

It wasn't _extremely_ surprising that someone who was just forced to remember who he used to be was having a breakdown, but now he was kind of regretting it. The amount of pain Norman seemed to be in was more than he'd expected.

The screeching stopped, and Sammy was about to make the terrible decision of putting a hand on Norman's shoulder when a yell made his look up. On the balcony, covered with ink and holding a battered tommy gun, was a face Sammy had seen recently, but hadn't actually _recognised_ for a long, long time.

Henry. Standing next to…Boris?

Awkward silence followed before Henry remembered that he had a dog to protect and a gun, and Sammy remembered the convulsing friend directly next to him. Sammy quickly moved between the gun and Norman; anyone looking at him might mistake him for some sort of feral monster, and who knows what mindset Henry was in right now. Sammy called out to him, finally using his new mouth to speak. "Henry?"

"Sammy? Are you…ok?"

"No."

"Me neither." Henry glanced at the Bendy stature directly behind Sammy. "Are…are you going to sacrifice me. Again?"

Sammy thought for a second. Surprisingly he hadn't thought about Bendy for a while, he'd been busy thinking about…other things. He shook his head.

"Do…do you need some help?"

With Norman or in general? Sammy couldn't tell, but his attention was drawn back to his friend. He'd stopping convulsing but his body was shaking. He tried to get up and Sammy watched for a second before leaning over and helping him up. Norman looked up at Henry and gave a quiet crackle. Did he recognise him too?

Sammy looked back up at Henry, and nodded.

"Yes…please."

After all this time, it was nearly over. There was a fight with Joey, or with what was left of him, and the only thing left behind was a 'perfect' Bendy, lost and confused. A perfect Alice had also joined the little party during their journey and now they were so close, so near the exit.

But they hadn't gotten out of the battle unharmed. Sammy and Norman trailed at the back of the group, as the toons didn't quite trust them. They were supporting each other, long gashes from 'Bendy's' claws oozing ink down their bodies. They weren't able to treat anything, they were just hoping they'd make it out but…with the way Norman's speaker had stopped being able to emit sound and the way Sammy's breath came out in short, pained gasps, the hope of exiting was growing dimmer and dimmer.

Sammy suddenly stumbled and fell, his grasp on Norman slipping away. The Projectionist also fell without the support of Sammy, and the crash alerted Henry and the others. "Sammy? Norman? Are you ok?"

Sammy didn't respond, just shook his head. No, they weren't alright. They were tired, they just wanted rest. And with the way his vision was blurring into darkness, Sammy got the feeling that he would find it soon.

Norman wasn't scared. He'd been scared during the fight, he'd been scared when he saw the wounds on his friends back. But now, with Sammy lying limply beside him and his light flickering to darkness for the first time in so long, he felt…ready. He'd been through so much pain, and now he would finally get something that wasn't pain.

He looked to his side and saw Sammy's white eyes slowly slip shut. Henry and the toons were watching nearby, looking shocked but not doing anything to prevent it. Norman looked away and watched as his limited vision faded, until finally Norman saw darkness again.


End file.
